


A Quiescent Aubade

by FluffyRobi



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., Twenty One Pilots
Genre: ASL, Abusive Family, Alternate Universe, Bullying, F/F, High School, High School AU, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, More tags to come as storyline progresses, Mute AU, Religion bashing, Sign Language, Suicidal Thoughts, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyRobi/pseuds/FluffyRobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you meet someone for the first time, something always sticks out to you. Whether it’s their smile, hairstyle, eyes, or even their voice, you notice it immediately. It becomes what you associate the person with whenever you think about them from then on. Have you ever wondered what people notice about you? Have you ever stopped and watched yourself in a mirror, staring at every feature you have until you subtly hate every little thing about yourself? You’ll poke and prod and never, ever figure out what people like about you.<br/>We aren’t meant to know. Just to ponder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rubatosis

**Author's Note:**

> Rubatosis - The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat  
> Quiescent - A quiet, soft-spoken soul  
> Aubade - A song greeting the dawn

When you meet someone for the first time, something always sticks out to you. Whether it’s their smile, hairstyle, eyes, or even their voice, you notice it immediately. It becomes what you associate the person with whenever you think about them from then on. Have you ever wondered what people notice about you? Have you ever stopped and watched yourself in a mirror, staring at every feature you have until you subtly hate every little thing about yourself? You’ll poke and prod and never, ever figure out what people like about you.

We aren’t meant to know. Just to ponder.

 

***///***

 

He spat dirt out of his mouth and wiped his face with a sleeve. He could feel the blood from his nose smear across his cheek. He didn’t dare open his eyes in case they took it as a challenge, so he just lay there with a mixture of shredded turf and rocks digging into his back. He hoped that if he didn’t move, they would get bored and leave.

It didn’t usually work, and this time was no exception.

They beat Ryan soundly for another few minutes and he began to wonder if one could force themselves into unconsciousness. He was so busy willing himself to succumb to the darkness in the back of his eyes that he didn’t notice the beating stop- until something hit the ground, hard, beside him.

“Fuckin’ leave him alone, you pussies! I oughtta call Hurley over here to beat your punk asses!” someone yelled, a little to the left.

He finally dared to open his eyes to see a boy wearing what looked like the whole fucking neon rainbow. His saviour noticed that he was actually alive, and smiled, sticking a hand out to help him up. The boy took it warily.

“The name’s Gabe; part time artist and full time knight in shining armour,” he joked, patting the other on the back.

There was a bit of an awkward silence when Ryan didn’t respond, and Gabe looked at the other expectantly.

“And your name is..?”

Ryan pulled his ID out of his pocket and handed it to Gabe, who looked it over for a moment, then whistled and nodded.

“Well, George Ryan Ross the Third, it’s nice to meet you. You don’t go to Palo Verde, do you?”

Ryan shook his head, slightly confused as to why this guy was questioning a total stranger about his high school.

Despite his house being across the street from the aforementioned high school, Ryan went to a private “Catholic” school with his best friend. It was a little present from his mother before she up and abandoned him.

Gabe gave him an odd look, and Ryan wondered if it was because of his silent responses. Probably. There was a reason he was the number one target for pent up anger; he couldn’t say no or scream for help.

Usually people commented on his silence, but Gabe took it in stride. He shrugged and grinned again, and Ryan couldn’t help but to smile back.

“Well, that would explain why I haven’t seen you around much. Yo, I know we just met and all that shit, but are you free? I’m having a little jam session with a few of my friends and I’m kinda scared to let you off on your own.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. Ryan trusted Gabe for some reason; probably because he had such an easy-going personality and he had just saved him from breaking a rib again.

“Fuck yeah! I don’t have a car, but the house isn’t that far away,” he said, looking a little apologetic, “And we can clean you up when we get there. Bilvy had a soft-spot for taking care of people.”

 

Gabe talked the entire time. Ryan lost track of the topic within the first three minutes, and instead got lost in his own thoughts. Mostly about how Gabe’s hand was still on his shoulder, and how he was a really touchy-feely person. Usually Ryan didn’t like being touched, but Gabe’s skin was warm and he didn’t have malicious intent. Ryan also thought about how he didn’t seem offended when he stopped nodding as a reply to whatever Gabe was blabbering on about, and how his voice wasn’t annoying like most people’s were.

Ryan wondered if he was helping him out of pity. The idea soured the rest of the trip.  
  


Gabe was right; the house was about a ten minute walk. Once they neared it, Ryan could hear an amazing guitar solo. He realised that the reason he didn’t notice it sooner was because someone was playing an acoustic. He was surprised by how smooth it sounded.

“That’s Bilvy,” Gabe explained when he saw the look of surprise on Ryan’s face. “He’s really good on the acoustic- as you’ve noticed. We’ve got a nice little range of instrumental wonders in our group. Us nerds gotta stick together, you feel?” he laughed.

He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket as the two of them walked into a driveway of a rather large house.

“Boyfriend perks,” he giggled as he pressed a button on a fob. The garage door opened, and all activity stopped to stare at the newcomers.

“Cobras and mambas, this is my new friend, George Ryan Ross the Third,” Gabe announced.

There was a chorus of “hey George”s from everyone, and Ryan winced. He hated being called George; that was his father’s name, and he liked to distance himself from that relationship.

One of the kids rushed forwards after laying eyes on Ryan, cupping his face in his hands.

“Oh, you poor thing! Are you alright? What happened?”

The kid, who was tall and lanky and had really fucking long hair, let go of Ryan’s face and whipped around to face Gabe.

“Gabriel Eduardo Saporta, you explain why George is beat up _this instant_. Brenny, go get my first aid kit. You know where it is.”

A boy, about Ryan’s height and sporting a poorly done military cut, ran into the house as Gabe shrugged and turned on his heel in a dismissive manner.

“Found him bein’ beat on by Liam and Jacob. They were like, wailing on him. I stepped in like the shining knight I am and saved him. He doesn’t talk.” He then turned to Ryan with a lopsided grin. “This is Bilvy. Told’ja he’d baby you.”

Bilvy scowled- although it didn’t reach his eyes, which shimmered with something that Ryan could only describe as adoration- and punched Gabe in the arm.

“My name is _William_ , thank you very much. And I don’t baby, I just take care of others. Especially the ones who can’t take care of themselves,” he added with a pointed stare at Gabe.

Ryan watched the interactions between the two as the boy, Brenny?, came rushing out of the house with a large, white box. It had a red cross on it, and Ryan inhaled sharply. He hated medical supplies.

William gently took Ryan’s face in his hands, making the boy look at him.

“Hey, George, I’m gonna start cleaning up your cuts, okay?”

Ryan nodded slowly, trying to quell his discomfort from being touched by someone he barely knew.

William had a gentle touch and his breath smelled like the mint gum he was chewing. Their faces were close as the taller boy fixed up Ryan’s face.

Ryan noticed that William had really long eyelashes, and pretty brown eyes. There was the beginning of stubble on his chin, as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His hands were really soft, like, _wow_. He probably moisturised.

After cleaning up Ryan’s cuts and applying bandages to any of the ones that hadn’t quite scabbed over yet, William backed away with a satisfied smile.

“There, now you look less like a war victim, and more like a rough-and-tumble kid. The ladies like that look,” he joked with a wink.

Brenny had hung around while William played doctor, and took this moment to blink and face Ryan.

“Why don’t you say anything?” he questioned suddenly, making everyone who heard stop and stare at him.

“Oh my God, Brendon, you can’t just ask people why they don’t speak,” one of the kids whispered in horror. Ryan cast a glance at the speaker and found that he was wearing a fucking fedora. I mean, really, a _fedora_? This is 2015, and Gabe didn’t seem like the kind of person who hung out with dudebros. That’s just sad.

Brenny/Brendon frowned at Fedora Guy and crossed his arms.

“I can, and I just did. I wanna know why.” He turned to look Ryan in the eyes. “So, why?”

Ryan just stared as quietly as ever, unblinking.

“Do you speak?”

He inhaled a little sharply- Brendon asked _if_ he spoke, not if he _could_. That meant he probably _knew_.

The idea scared Ryan a little.

He shook his head.

William interrupted by stepping between them and placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He was just as touchy-feely as Gabe, apparently.

“Do you know sign language? ‘Cause Brenny here does. Maybe he could translate for you- if you want, I mean.”

Ryan paused and wondered why Brendon would know sign language. It wasn’t exactly a sought after language, and was too confusing to be considered an easy credit class. He looked over the boy in an attempt to see _something_ , whether it was just a plain desire to know ASL or if he had a reason to- family, or maybe a friend? Ryan knew that sometimes friends would learn ASL for each other.

It was then that he caught sight of a flash of purple behind Brendon’s ear as the boy looked away. _Oh._

Brendon shuffled his feet before looking back at Ryan.

 **I’m deaf,** he signed.

 **I know,** Ryan signed back.

Brendon smiled. Ryan pursed his lips to keep from smiling back.

 

Thirty minutes later, William was trying to convince Brendon to let him check his hearing aids, and the latter was very adamant about keeping his host _away from his ears_. Gabe sat next to Ryan in a set of chairs, a few others milling around them. There was a guy with flip flops, who played bass, sitting on a stool, listening to the conversation and offering his input.

“Well, there’s Patrick Stump,” Gabe paused and motioned towards Fedora Guy, who Ryan had found out that he was a lot nicer than his fashion sense dictated, “And Josh Dun. Jon Walker is the guy next to you, and you’ve already met William Beckett and Brendon Urie.”

“Brenny’s the youngest out of our lil group,” Jon added. “So that’s why he gets the cute nickname. Oh, Gabe, don’t forget about Tyler and the Way Brothers. Oh, and Pete.”

Gabe swooned sarcastically.

“Oh, Pete Wentz, my true love. Kidding, kidding. I’m actually surprised he’s not here; he’s usually with Patrick. Hey, ‘Trick!”

Patrick looked up from his phone, blinking.

“Where’s the Meme Queen?” Jon asked. Patrick shrugged.

“Probably off with Ashlee,” he muttered, and Ryan thought he caught a hint of jealousy.

He wasn’t the only one, because Josh Dun wandered over and slung himself over Patrick, knocking the phone out of his hands.

“Oh Patty, don’t worry about Pete and his new toy. I’m here to love you!”

Ryan smiled. He liked Josh, a lot. Josh was a drummer, and really nice and funny. He was learning ASL so that he could talk to Brendon without the kid’s hearing aids.

“Oh Josh, you shut up. Everyone in town knows that you eat tubs of ice cream with Tyler goes on dates with his girlfriend. Uhh… what’s her name?” Gabe looked to Patrick for help.

“Jenna,” Patrick answered.

“Yeah, Jenna! Hey, didn’t Ty talk about proposing to her-”

Gabe stopped short when he saw the pout of Josh’s face.

“Oh, Joshy, you know I was kidding!”

Ryan smiled, enjoying the playful atmosphere of the group. He opened his arms for a hug, but Josh apparently got a different idea and planted himself in Ryan’s lap.

The drummer laughed when his new seat’s eyes bugged out in surprise.

“Sorry Georgie,” he giggled. “I know I’m a lil heavier than expected.”

Ryan frowned when he heard ‘Georgie,’ and Josh looked a bit startled.

“D-did I say something?” he questioned worriedly.

Ryan took a deep breath, wondering if Josh knew enough sign language to understand.

 **My name is Ryan** , he signed, slowly because he got the feeling that Josh was a beginner.

Josh seemed to mentally chew the words, thinking over them.

“Ryan, right? Did I get that? You go by Ryan?”

Oh, wow, Josh looked like a puppy when he was excited. Ryan smiled and nodded.

“Ohhh, okay!”

The drummer hopped up and happily told everyone the nominal update.

Ryan decided that he was saved by the right person. He could definitely get used to this.

 

It was around 9 when Ryan finally got a text, although it wasn’t from his dad wondering where he was.

He opened the message and saw SPENCER FUCKIN SMITH as the contact name, and sighed.

 

> **SPENCER FUCKIN SMITH**
> 
> \------------
> 
> hey bro where r u?? its PIZZA NIGHT!!!!
> 
>                               09:07 PM    
>   
> ---  
  
 

Jon saw the text over Ryan’s shoulder and gasped.

“Holy _shit_ Ry, you’re friends with _Spencer Smith_?”

Ryan blinked, confused, and nodded.

“He’s like, perfect? He has such an amazing smile, and his hair is so beautiful, and he has the cutest nose ever. I think I’m kind of in love with him,” Jon babbled.

It took Ryan a few moments to realise that Jon was _serious_ , and then he was hunched over laughing. Someone in love with Spencer? Bitchy Smith? The very person who pours ice water on someone because they slept in past noon?

It was then that Spencer chose to call.

 _“Ryan Ross, you better get your bitch ass to my house within the next five minutes or else I’m calling the police and telling them you have weed. Or you were kidnapped. Whichever will get you over her faster- actually, if you have weed, bring it you fucker I know you don’t share- anyways, if you’re not here soon I’m gonna eat all your fucking pizza and watch Grease without you. You better be dead or fucking getting laid- wait why are you answering your phone if you’re having sex? Whatever, I don’t hear your bitchass dumb moans in the background and you only ever seem to get morning wood, so I doubt someone found your pasty face cute enough to bang. Come over you fuckwad! Love you, drive safe!”_ And then he hung up.

Brendon looked at Ryan oddly, having sat himself by the chairs earlier.

“Did.. did he just curse you out.. Threaten to call the police on you… And then end it with ‘I love you?’”

Ryan, shaking from laughter, simply nodded.

 

Brendon ended up driving Ryan to Spencer’s, because Gabe and William refused to let him walk by himself. Jon tagged along for a chance to meet the glorious Spencer Smith, and Ryan could practically feel the excitement from the bassist. It was almost cute.

“Does Spencer know sign language, too?” Jon asked during the car ride.

Ryan nodded.

“How long have you guys known each other- wait, shit, bad way to word that. Have you guys known each other for a while?”

Another nod.

“Oh, dude, that’s so fucking cool. I love him. He went to Palo Verde, you know, for like, a year. He was in my band class. I wish he banged me like he did those drums.”

Brendon almost choked, and he coughed a few times with Ryan looking on from the passenger seat with a hint of worry.

“S-sorry, it’s just, y’know. Save a drum, bang a drummer, y’know?”

Jon laughed. Ryan smiled.

 

Jon probably would’ve proposed to Ryan if he wasn’t already in love with Spencer.

Ryan offered to introduce them, and so with a little coaxing from Brendon, the bassist found himself on the porch of his crush.

The bell was rung three times in succession, so Spencer would know that it was indeed his best friend and not the pizza guy and therefore didn’t have to actually put on clothes.

The door swung open to reveal Spencer fucking Smith in batman boxers and a shirt that said “Ross is my bitch.”

He faltered a bit when he saw the two others next to Ryan, and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Ross, I only have two pizzas,” he said with a bit of a confused frown.

 **They drove me here,** Ryan explained. **I got jumped and the person who saved me wouldn’t let me walk here alone.**

“Again, Ryan? Who was it? Was it Trevor? I’ll fucking kill them-”

“Liam and Jacob,” Brendon intervened. “Hi, I’m Brendon, and that’s Jon. Sorry for intruding.”

Spencer looked the kid up and down, definitely sizing him up. After an awkward moment, the blond turned and walked inside, leaving Ryan to hold the door open for the others to enter.

“I’ll order two more pizzas. What do you guys like? Get anything, I don’t care. You’re all staying for pizza night. And absolutely no bitching from you, Ross.”

Ryan shook his head and laughed while Jon looked absolutely star-struck. The bassist was silent, so Brendon sighed and answered for him.

“I usually get meat supreme, and Jon likes pineapple and ham.”

“Oh, cool, I do too,” Spencer called over his shoulder as he sashayed into the kitchen to order the extra pizzas.

Ryan frowned at Brendon’s order. He ate mostly vegetarian ever since his teacher forced his class to watch one of those slaughterhouse videos.

Jon finally let out his breath and turned to Ryan.

“Holy shit. I’m in Spencer Smith’s house. I could kiss you, to be honest. I’m gonna, but I could.”

 **He’s not that great** , Ryan signed with Brendon translating. **He’s a total bitch.**

“I heard that!” Spencer called from the kitchen, and Ryan chuckled.

 

Brendon knew every single word to Grease, and Ryan watched in awe as the kid sung his lungs out. He had pipes, that’s for sure.

The position of everyone made it look like the had known each other forever; Ryan was sprawled out in Spencer’s lap on the couch, the latter dragging his fingers through Ry’s locks. Spencer’s feet were placed gently on Jon’s shoulders, who was sat directly in front of the two, on the floor. Brendon danced around the living room, singing happily. Everyone was content to watch his performance, as they had all seen the movie multiple times.

With Brendon’s enthusiastic performance of “We Go Together” in the background, Ryan felt himself slipping into sleep. His stomach was full after eating an entire pizza (spinach, cheese, and pineapple) and Spencer was rhythmically playing with his hair. Brendon’s voice was a soft lull as the ending credits rolled, and Jon said something that Ryan didn’t catch. The next thing he remembered was “b-y-e” being signed into his open hand.

He dreamt of singing letters with silent voices.

 


	2. Énouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Énouement - The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah oh, i cant even take it in

_“But it is one thing to read about dragons and another to meet them.”_

― Ursula K. Le Guin, A Wizard of Earthsea

 

***///***

 

Ryan woke up to something light and warm hitting his face. He pulled it off, blinking sleepily. It wasn’t until he actually looked at whatever hit him that he realised Spencer had thrown a fresh pancake at him.

His stomach growled and he noticed that Spencer was making breakfast, judging by the amazing aroma coming from the next room and the fact that Ryan was now alone on the couch where he had fallen asleep on Spencer.

Ryan groggily swung himself off the couch and trudged into the kitchen connected to the living room, where Spencer waved his spatula in liu of a greeting.

“Hungry, Sleeping Beauty?” he asked with a smirk.

He knew the answer, however, because he then proceeded to hand Ryan a plate of already prepared pancakes. Ryan excitedly took the offering and hauled himself onto the counter to eat, despite his friend’s disapproving look.

 

Ryan got dressed using one of the extra uniforms Spencer kept (specifically for him, Ryan figured, but his friend always vehemently denied it, saying that he accidentally bought too many) and they were out the door around the time the bus pulled up to the house.

The bus driver knew the deal well enough; Ryan often spent the night at Spencer’s, as Mr. Ross didn’t care where his son was, usually, and Spencer’s parents liked Ryan a lot. They understood his home situation and didn’t mind coming home sometimes to find the boy asleep on the couch (or Spencer/Spencer’s bed) or eating their food. Sometimes, Ryan considered the Smiths to be more of a family than whatever he and his own father had going on.

 

Once the duo was seated on the bus, Ryan noticed a few people staring at his bruises. They were mostly freshmen who hadn’t come to learn that the boy with honey-brown eyes, wild hair, and eyeliner usually looked rather beat up. If it weren’t the boys whom Ryan had encountered yesterday, then it was his own father.

 

At school, nobody commented on his injuries. Then again, nobody really spoke to him. No one had ever gotten a reply out of him (except Spencer, but he doesn’t count) and if they did, they never understood it. The school had about two people besides Ross and Smith who knew sign language, and they were both special-ed counselors. Ryan didn’t really want to associate himself with them; he was fine with the number of beatings he got and was not looking to increase that amount. Besides, Ryan was too busy taking notes and studying to be doing much talking.

His grades were amazing, really; he spent a good part of his childhood developing good study habits in hope that he’d get a bit more attention from his family if he seemed intelligent.

It didn’t work, but the habits were already set in place. Besides, good grades would get him further away from Las Vegas.

Ryan and Spencer only had about three classes together, despite Mrs. Smith’s constant protests (“Spencer should be in every class with you in case you need to say something!”), and lunch was one them.

Ryan never had any food at home that was lunch-worthy, and his father refused to give him money, so Spencer packed him leftovers.

Today’s lunch was leftover pizza from last night, and there was absolutely no complaint as the two boys chowed down.

Spencer rambled on about his chemistry class, “God, Ryan, you’d _hate_  her. Mrs. Williams always singles me out, especially when I’m not paying attention!”

Ryan rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to tell Spencer that maybe the class would be more enjoyable if he, in fact, payed attention.

They had this conversation last week, and the week before that, and the week before that- actually, come to think of it, they had this conversation every time Spencer had a class with Mrs. Williams since he moved to Bishop Gormon.

“Oh, right! Ross, I gave Jon and Brendon your number before they left last night. Forgot to tell you.”

Ryan rolled his eyes; it was just like Spencer to have forgotten to say something like _that._

“Hey dude, like, I’m just not used to texting people other than you and my mom, y’know?” Spencer protested, frowning.

Ryan nodded and finished his pizza, as Spencer had a point; the two of them never really strayed from each other. They had been friends since they were six and they played with each other because Ryan’s dad worked with Mr. Smith on a few work projects.

Ryan and Spencer had gone to school together ever since then- (Except for that one year that Mrs. Smith made her son go to a public school for the “life experience,” as she put it)- and basically only hunt out with each other. Ryan didn’t have much of a choice, honestly; being mute makes it a little hard to make new friends.  
For the first few years of _really_  being friends, Ryan was so terrified that Spencer was going to find people that could, y’know, _talk,_  and leave him.

Spencer never did. Not once.

 

Ryan was surprised when his phone buzzed loudly in English. He never had anyone text him, so he never had it off.

Mr. Hoppus narrowed his eyes and frowned at Ryan, tutting.

“Phone, Ross. Turn it off and get back to work.”

Once the teacher returned to grading and all eyes were on their own books- the class was reading Anthem, by Ayn Rand- Ryan pulled out his dumb moto-G and unlocked it.

There was a text from an unknown number, which was extra weird.

 

> **702-679-555**
> 
> \------------
> 
> hi ry! its brendon! spencer have me your #
> 
> what class are you in rn? im in lunch. jons playing hooky.
> 
>                              2:06 pm

Ryan smiled softly to himself, tapping out a small reply of “english” before silencing his phone and returning to the book.

 

“Ayn Rand is so pretentious. She’s more pretentious than Ross,” a kid groaned as class let out to seventh period. Ryan recognised him as Adam Fletcher, someone who completely believed that Ryan was just acting for attention.

Ryan found that idea preposterous; who’d go mute just for attention? It didn’t really work that way, if experience said anything.

“Hey, Ross!”

Fuck, Fletcher was coming over.

“Hey dude, guess what?”

Ryan just merely raised his eyebrows, already knowing what was coming.

“I learnt some sign language, just for you! Wanna see?”

Ryan turned around, ready to ignore him and go to his next class, but Fletcher had other ideas.

One of his cronies grabbed Ryan’s shoulder and slammed him against a wall.

“Nah Ross, that isn’t a choice. Sorry,” Adam snickered. “Unfortunately, this is one participation grade you can’t mute yourself out of.”

 _That doesn’t even make sense,_  Ryan thought vaguely before a fist connected with his left cheek.

He hissed and spat in Fletcher’s face. Apparently one of the cuts from yesterday had reopened as there were red flecks in the saliva.

Fletcher’s feature contorted angrily and his cronies popped their knuckles in a rather menacing way. Ryan felt like he was in one of those cartoons where he would be beat into a pulp in five seconds.

“Uhm, excuse me kids, but it appears to me that the bell for seventh has rung, and you’re standin’ over Ross like you want to eat him.”

Ryan paused and looked up to see one of the prefects, a tough girl named Victoria Asher.

“Awh, Vicky, you know Ross and I are only playing,” Fletcher crooned with a smirk.

“That’s Asher to you,” the prefect replied curtly, crossing her arms. “Get to class, Fletcher.”

“But-”

“ _Now._ ”

Fletcher scowled and his cronies released Ryan, who fell to the ground on his knees.

As the others walked away, Asher bent down to help Ryan up.

“Hey kid, you alright?” he asked with a hint of worry.

He nodded, brushing himself off. Asher looked him up and down for a moment before sighing and shrugging. She took out her hall pass pad and wrote him an excuse.

“Alright Ross, run along to class. If those goons touch you again, let me know; I’ve been waiting for a reason to throw them in The Pit.”

(The Pit was what the students of Bishop Gordon called their In School Suspension, because the room is was held in was in the basement. Well, that’s loose term for the underground portion of the school; it was just as nice as the rest of the building. Plenty of classes were held there, too. To be honest, “The Pit” was coined by the prefects because they wanted to sound intimidating. “Stop or you’re going to ISS” isn’t exactly scary.”)

Ryan nodded and turned to leave. As he walked away, he heard Asher say “see you tonight!”

What the hell did she mean?

 

The bleeding in Ryan’s mouth had stopped, so he didn’t feel all that self-conscious when he handed the pass to his teacher.

Mr. Armstrong took his time looking over the slip, seemingly stumped.

“Miss Asher never hands out passes, so I’m not quite sure why you got this… But nevermind, I’ve never had a reason to doubt the either of you before. Sit down, Mr. Ross. We’re talking about how to find the square root of the area of a dodecahedron.

Ryan took his seat next to Spencer, as they had this class together, and Spencer slid his notes over so that his friend could copy them down.

Ryan held through the rest of the class with that little bit of hope that came from senior year (along with senioritis.)

_Just a few more months, and I can leave…_

 

The bell rang and Ryan loitered around class, waiting for Spencer to finish writing the formulas from the board down.

“Kay, done!” Spencer called as he hopped up, shoved everything into his backpack in such a haphazard manner that Ryan winced, and grinned.

When he joined Ryan at the door, the two of them started their amble to the parking lot to catch the bus.

They were stopped when someone shouted “Ross! Smith!”

They both froze and turned around warily. Ryan relaxed when he saw that it was just Asher, who was trotting down the hall.

“What does a prefect want with us?” Spencer whispered to Ryan, looking white as a sheet.

Asher came to a stop in front of the two and smiled amiably, a hand on her hip.

“Hey kids! Ross, do you _ever_  check your phone? Gabe’s been trying to get ahold of you for the past two hours. Jeez,” she chided, but it was still friendly. Ryan was extremely confused, as he had never really spoke to Asher before today.

He looked at Spencer, who shrugged, seemingly just as clueless.

She groaned. “You know, Saporta? Jon gave him your number so he could invite you out tonight. Pat and Pete landed a gig down at Leftend and we’re also gonna throw them an afterparty.”

Spencer paused a bit, mentally chewing on the information.

“Jon… OH! Ohhh, Fall Out Boy? They’re playing at Left tonight?”

Wait, what? Patrick Stump, _Fedora Guy_ , is in Fall Out Boy? Ryan’s eyes were wide as Asher nodded, looking a little exasperated with how long it took for Spencer to grasp what she was saying.

“Yeah, they finally got a drummer, and I hear Trohman is their new lead guitarist.”

Trohman? The weird science nerd? Ryan wrinkled his nose and scoffed, not believing it for a moment. But then again, Mr. Fedora was in the most popular local band in Vegas.

“No, Ross, really. I saw them practicing a few nights ago, and Troh’s pretty good. You guys should definitely come. I bet Pete can sneak you through the back!”

Oh man, a free concert and an afterparty? With the high school heartthrobs of the decade? Neither of the boys needed any further pushing.

“So Ross, are we fobbin’ tonight?” Spencer asked with a hint of a smile.

**Fuck yes.**

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Spencer laughed. “We’re in, Asher.”

The prefect waved her hand absently.

“Oh please, those who know Gabe call me Vicky-T. Vicky for short.”

 

Since the two boys ended up missing their bus, Vicky offered to drive them. However, Ryan quickly suspected that they weren’t going _home_.  
“Well kids, you’re lucky that I’m here, or else Gabe would’ve come to get you. And that’s very, very dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked. Ohhh, yeah, he hasn’t met Gabe yet.

Vicky laughed. “Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. He drives like he talks and walks: erratically. I refuse to get in the car if he’s at the wheel. Actually, most of the gang does, too. I think Brendon’s the only one wacky enough to actually drive with Saporta.”

Spencer blinked, his brows furrowing, which Ryan always found adorable.

“How many people are in your ‘gang?’”

“Oh dear,” Vicky tutted. She seemed to say that a lot. “There’s like, little sects of our gang, you know? Well, we’re not actually a whole ‘gang,’ more like different groups of friends who sometimes hang out with each other. We’re all more seperated by our bands. There’s about sixteen of us? Maybe more; it’s a little hard to keep track. But we all got together when we formed our little bands! It started when Patrick inspired Gabe to found Cobra Starship, and it just kinda had a domino effect. Then Bilvy made Albino Croquette and Gee started Sleep Terror.” She sighed fondly, pulling into a driveway that Ryan recognised as the one he was in last night.

“We all just kinda jam together,” she said, as if it explained everything. “Although most everybody goes to Palo Verde, a few of us go to Bishop. Like me, and JoTroh, and you, Ross!”

Ryan gave Spencer a look of “wait, _what?_ "

Vicky turned off the car and got out. “Yeah, Bilvy’s kind of adopted you? He initially invited you tonight, though I agree; I’ve never seen the two of you out of school. It’s a little sad.”

Spencer scowled, apparently offended. “We’re usually at my house, watching movies or play games. Outside of school and studying, we don’t have much free time.”

Ryan rolled his eyes as he and Spencer climbed out into fresh air.

 **Studying,** he signed mockingly at his friend once he was in sight. **More like having me do all of your homework for you.**

“Shut up Ross-”

Spencer’s reply was cut off by someone who smelled unusually like wood shavings and clove- Josh, probably- wrapping their arms around Ryan.

“Ryry!” the drummer giggled in his ear. “I’m sooo glad you could make it!”

 **Hi Josh** , Ryan signed with a bit of a smile.

Josh looked overjoyed to have Ryan sign directly at him.

Gabe appeared out of seemingly nowhere, looking Spencer up and down.

“Is this the famous Spencer Smith?” he asked Jon, who was trailing him. Jon nodded quickly as Ryan noticed a large group of people amble out of the garage. How the fuck did Gabe know so many kids?

Vicky placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and let her gaze roam over the people gathered in front of them.

“Okay, so I think some introductions are in order” she started, and then proceeded to point at someone while saying their name. “That’s Jon, Gabe, William, Mikey, hey there’s Tyler! Josh is the one hanging on Ross. Over there’s Gerard and Frank.”

 **Where’s Brendon?**  Ryan asked with Spencer translating.

Josh let go of Ryan, frowning. “Shit, I dunno. Where is Bren?”

Everyone looked at each other in a confused manner, until Mikey pointed down the road.

“Is that him?”

Ryan peered at what seemed to be a kid peddling hardcore on a bike. The kid had a dumb crew-cut and red glasses and- yep, that was Brendon.

Brendon tore into the driveway and came to a screeching halt in front of Spencer.

“Hey!” he practically yelled, hopping off his bike to envelop the stunned boy in a bear-hug. “Ryan never replied to any of our texts, so I wasn’t sure if you guys were coming!”

He then to turned to William, who was looking rather cross with Brendon.

“Why were you late?” Bilvy asked, crossing his arms.

Brendon shuffled his feet sheepishly. “Sorry Bilvy… Mom wouldn’t let me skip church, so I had to sneak out.”

The stern look on William’s face immediately softened.

“Alright. You be careful when you go home, okay?”

Brendon nodded.

Vicky then took Brendon’s hand and lead him into the garage.

“C’mon boys, let’s go get some cookies and prep for tonight!”

 

Somewhere between walking into the house and now, Jon had stolen Spencer and Ryan was left with William and Brendon, who were happily chatting about Muse and the new album. They seemed to as eat around each other. You could tell that everyone here (excluding Ryan and Spencer) had know each other for a very long time.

Apparently most of them went to Palo Verde together, and only a handful went to Bishop Gormon, as Vicky had explained earlier. Ryan recognised a few classmates he had within the throng of people mingling around. He had Chemistry with Gerard and APLang with Mikey, despite the brothers being in separate grades. Frank was in Ryan’s creative writing class.

Ryan didn’t share any classes with Hurley (who was apparently the new drummer for Fall Out Boy; who would’ve guessed?) or Trohman, but the two were well-known in BGH for their drumming and biology abilities, respectively.

Ryan realised that out of 16 of the people in this group, six of them went to school with him.

“Ryan! _Ryan_!” someone yelled.

Ryan blinked and gasped, startled. He relaxed, however, when he saw that it was merely Brendon.

 **Sorry,**  the brunet signed bashfully. **You were spaced out pretty far. The concert isn’t until six; do you want to get something to eat now?**

 **Sure,** Ryan replied. **What were you thinking?**

**How does Waffle House sound?**

**That’s fine.**

Brendon nodded and stood up, facing a rather bemused-looking William.

“Ryan and I are gonna get some food before the concert. See ya later!”

“Alright,” William acknowledged. “Have fun, you two. Are you gonna come back here, or go straight to Leftend?”

Brendon looked at Ryan, who shrugged.

“We’ll meet you at Lefty’s, then!” Brendon answered with a grin. He then took Ryan’s hand and slung the mute’s pack over his own shoulder.

“C’mon Ry, let’s go get fat!”

Ryan followed him out, shaking his head fondly.

Brendon didn’t let go of his hand until they were in his car.

 

Brendon was noticeably surprised by the amount of food Ryan could eat.

Three waffles, four slices of toast, a plate of eggs, and some bacon later, Ryan was finally satiated. When he saw the stack of dishes he had left, his cheeks immediately reddened and he looked down to avoid what he knew would be a look of disgust from Brendon.

“Ryan.”

Nope, not looking.

“ _Ryan._ ”

The mute glanced up nervously, wringing his hands. Brendon didn’t seem disgusted, actually. He seemed worried.

**Are you okay?**

Ryan suddenly felt very appreciative of Brendon for signing.

**Yeah**

**Promise?**

**Yeah.**

And that was that. Brendon immediately started talking about how excited he was to see Pete and Patrick perform tonight with Joe and Andy.

Ryan was really grateful for Brendon at that moment. The kid was so thoughtful and happy-go-lucky, but he knew when to drop a subject. Maybe Ryan’d tell him about the lack of food in the house, or the _other_ reason he has bruises sometimes, or about the reason he lacks a mother, one day.

Maybe.

For now, however, Ryan was content with listening to Brendon ramble on about his friends. The kid did have a nice voice, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im comin apart at the seams  
> horchata is a weird word?


	3. Euphonious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euphonious - pleasing; sweet in sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some boyhood bravery

_“Our best thoughts come from others.”_

\- Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

***///***

Being close friends with the performing band obviously has its perks. As Vicky had predicted, Pete snuck Ryan and Brendon in through the back.

(“Oh, so you’re the famous Ryan I’ve heard so much about?” Pete had exclaimed as soon as they were introduced. “Shit man, Brendon talked non-stop about you at lunch today.”  
Brendon proceeded to hiss as Pete while the bassist gave the widest shit-eating grin Ryan had ever seen.)

Patrick was tuning a Stratacoustic, which immediately caught Ryan’s attention. He had always wanted a guitar upgrade; he was stuck with his old Gibson acoustic that he’s had since he was seven and his did still hoped that one day there’d be more sounds than the clinking of empty beer bottles in the house.  
Patrick must have seen the way Ryan’s eyes lit up, because he laughed and set the guitar down.  
“Hey Ryan! Do you play?”  
The mute shrugged, giving a wishy-washy hand sign. Patrick smiled.  
“I’d say that you do, judging by the way you seemed to bright up when you say ol’ Poison oak.”  
Ryan tilted his head, his mind instantly going to his one of his favourite songs. He doubted that Patrick would’ve named his guitar after an outdated, low-profile song from a underrated band like Bright Eyes.  
The again, the guy wore _fedoras._  In 2015.  
Ryan tapped Brendon on the shoulder to get his attention. **Ask Patrick if he listens to Bright Eyes.**  
Brendon blinked. “Wait, tell who, what?”  
Ryan rolled his eyes and huffed; his sign for “Patrick” must be different than Brendon’s. The beauty of communicating by sign language.  
 **P-A-T-R-I-C-K,**  Ryan spelled out. **Ask if he listens to Bright Eyes.**  
Brendon shrugged and relayed the question. “Hey, Paddy-whack!”  
The guitarist frowned, mumbling out, “no nicknames. What do you need?”  
“Ry wants to know if you listen to Bright Eyes.”  
Patrick paused, then perked up. It was almost like a delayed reaction, and holy _shit_  he was cute when he was excited.  
“You got the reference? Dude, that’s so cool! I love Bright eyes. Pete doesn’t like them, so we’re not allowed to cover any of their songs. Most people think that it’s weird, y’know, they think that I named my guitar after a plant, and like, I have to explain that, no, it’s a _song._  A fucking amazing song.”  
The guitarist looked ready to ramble on and Ryan was _so_  ready to listen; Bright Eyes was on e of his favourite bands and he had a totally heterosexual crush on Conor Oberst, but someone chose that moment to open the door and all but screech “FALL OUT BOY IN TEN!”  
It took all of three seconds for Ryan and Brendon to be hurried out of the dressing room with instructions to go through the right hallway. If they got close enough to the stage, Pete promised to give them a special shout out.   
Ryan wasn’t to keen on any extra attention, but Brendon seemed so excited about it; Ry couldn’t help but to let the kid drag him into the main room.

 **Hey Ryan,**  Brendon signed once they were right in front of the stage.   
Ryan blinked and raised in eyebrow in response. He was confused as to why the kid was using ASL when the room was merely filled with a few people who were milling about, waiting for the show to start.  
Brendon fumbled with something behind his ear. What- _oh._  
 **I turned my HA off,**  Brendon explained.  
 **Why?**  Wouldn’t he want to listen to the music?  
Brendon smiled and patted Ryan on the back. **Special HA; they can’t handle stuff this loud. It’s okay, though; I can still feel the bass.**  
Ryan paused, unsure what Brendon meant by “special hearing aids,” but he simply rolled with it and nodded. Besides, Brendon flashed a beautiful grin and suddenly, Ryan couldn’t think.

Okay, it felt a little disloyal to Brendon, but Patrick was absolutely the best singer in the world. Like, he probably had the voice of God.  
Ryan was in awe as he watched Pete do his double axis spin, and Hurley was just _desecrating_  the drumset. The entire band meshed so well, they had such an amazing energy, that Ryan found himself dancing with everyone else.  
Spencer and Jon had merged in with the small group by the stage; Ryan recognised his friend’s laugh over the music.  
It was nice. The atmosphere was loose and pumping, with no stress to talk or listen or respond, and all you had to do was feel the bass thumping in your chest and watch the way Pete looked at Patrick, or jump in time with Andy’s beat and Patrick’s voice.  
After a song that Ryan knew would get on the radio (I think they introduced it as Sugar, or something like that,) Pete stopped the progression of the setlist to rush to the edge of the stage and haul Brendon up.  
“C’mon Urie, sing Dance, Dance!” Pete yelled before launching into the song.  
Apparently Brendon had been planning this (Ryan knew that he couldn’t hear what Pete had said) because he began tapping his foot in time with Hurley and clearing his throat to prepare.  
“She said she’s no good with words, but I’m worse…”  
Ryan closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the music. Brendon had an amazing voice (not as good at Patrick’s, but still amazing nonetheless) and it was so easy to just sway with the beat. Ryan almost wanted to sing; he felt that familiar itching in his throat. It was hard, so so hard, to remind himself that he _couldn’t_  sing.  
Suddenly the crowd around him was too much and the music was too loud. The room spun and his lungs felt like they were collapsing into his stomach and suddenly, _suddenly_ , he had to get out of there.   
Ryan started scrambling for the exit, ignoring the annoyed shouts of people he accidentally shoved. He just couldn’t stand listening to Brendon sing. Every syllable the kid let out made Ryan’s chest constrict in a nasty way.  
In his frantic attempt to leave, Ryan missed the confused, hurt look on Brendon’s face.

Outside, Ryan slumped against a wall defeatedly. _This_  is why he didn’t go out, why he stayed inside with Spencer and didn’t interact with anyone else.  
It was hard to keep the tears from welling up- impossible, even. They fell down his cheeks as he tried to regulate his breathing. The cold autumn air pressed against his skin and his clothes threatened to devour him. It honestly felt like the world was trying to ruin Ryan; every passing car was too loud and the people were too close and everyone was probably laughing at him. They were looking, looking and laughing at Ryan Ross, the kid who can’t speak or sing or laugh. All he can do is smile or frown, all he can do is shake his head.   
George Ryan Ross, the kid who was named after a deadbeat alcoholic. The kid who can’t say no.   
He was the kid everyone pitied; he made Spencer learn sign language so they could actually communicate. He was such a burden.   
That’s all he could do; burden others.  
Nobody really cared about him; they just pitied him. That’s the only reason anyone did anything for him. He didn’t matter. He couldn’t speak.  
He didn’t matter.  
It was in that moment that everything inside of him seemed to snap. He looked up at the street in front of him and his eyes fixated on the cars that whizzed by. They didn’t pay attention to him because he was on the pavement, because he was pressed up against the sharp brick wall.  
Ryan was sure the cars wouldn’t pay attention to him if he stood up. They wouldn’t even notice if he took a few steps towards the road.  
Nobody would care if he stopped off the curb he was precariously balancing on. Ryan faintly wondered what Spencer would do when saw his best friend’s body. Would he tell Ryan’s father. What would his dad do? Would he even care? Ryan doubted it.  
Ryan truly, utterly doubted that anyone would care. They’d be happy that this silent burden was finally gone.  
“Ry!” he heard someone yell behind him.  
 _That’s weird,_  he thought to himself, _everybody else should be inside._  
And then there was a hand on his shoulder, pulled him back from the curb. Ryan turned around slowly to see Brendon, who looked extremely worried.  
“Ryan, what’s up? Are you okay?”  
Ryan stayed silent and blinked, confused as to where Brendon came from. Wasn’t he supposed to be on stage?  
“Ryan, please, speak to me,” Brendon was saying.  
Ryan scowled. Didn’t the kid know anything about him? He _couldn’t_ speak.  
Brendon winced. “Yeah, okay, bad choice of words. But c’mon Ry, tell me what happened. Why did you run out so suddenly?” He paused, then looked at Ryan sheepishly. “Did… Did I do something?”  
Ryan tried not to groan. Of course Brendon would blame himself for Ryan’s fucked up thoughts. That’s exactly what would happen.  
“Ry…”  
Okay, the kid was looking at him with those big, brown doe eyes, and Ryan sighed.   
**It’s a long story.**  
Brendon’s eyes lit up excitedly.  
 **I’ll listen!**  the kid signed back. **I’ll always listen. You can tell me. Please?**  
Ryan sighed. **I’ll tell you another time.**  
 **Do you promise to tell?**  
 **Yes,**  Ryan replied. **I promise, Brendon.**

Brendon lead Ryan back into the building, where Spencer cause Ryan’s eye and simply made the sign for “worry.”  
Ryan sighed and told his friend, **it happened again.**  
Spencer’s expression hardened. **We’re going to talk about this later.**  
Ryan nodded and turned to Brendon, who suddenly had drinks in his hands.  
“Hey Ry, are you thirsty? I bought you a Dr. Pepper.”  
 **There’s no alcohol in this, right?**  Ryan asked. Brendon laughed.  
“I’m 17! Besides, something tells me you’re not that kind of guy.”  
Ryan smiled. **You’re right.**  
The two found a table close enough to the stage where they could see Patrick dancing to the song as he sung.  
 **He’s got nice hips,**  Ryan signed to Brendon, who was downing his coke like it was ambrosia. Brendon nodded once he swallowed. “Patrick’s a really cool guy. He’s really thoughtful, but he doesn’t take shit from anyone. It’s pretty inspiring.”  
 **How long have you guys known each other?**  Ryan questioned, a little hesitantly. He kind of felt like he was intruding on their friendships, sometimes.  
Brendon thought for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “Let’s see…. Gabe and Bilvy have known each other since they were born… They were neighbors, y’know? And if I’m right, Gabe’s older sister is Bilvy’s God Mother. Their families are pretty close.   
“And Pete and Patrick have been friends since…. first grade, I think? A while, I know that much. They were inseparable up until this year, when Pete got his first true girlfriend. Don’t think Patty’s taking it very well, tee-bee-haitch.”  
Ryan raised an eyebrow at Brendon’s casual use of text lingo in an actual vocal conversation. What a nerd.  
“And anyways, so yeah,” Brendon continued. “I met William in fifth grade when he found out that I was deaf and he started trailing me because he wanted to know how I worked. His exact words, I’m not kidding. But yeah, we were like, ten, so it’s okay. He introduced me to Gabe in sixth grade, when we all started going to school together. And I met Pete and Patrick around eighth grade… And the others just kind of filtered in as time went by. It’s really nice, y’know. We all take care of each other.”  
Brendon paused and turned to look fondly at the people on the stage and near it.  
“They’re like the family I’ve always wanted.”  
Ryan followed Brendon’s gaze to see William and Gabe smiling at them.  
 _Yeah,_  Ryan thought while Brendon waved to their friends. _I can see why you feel that._

William came over as Fall Out Boy was playing their last song.  
“Hey kids!” he greeted amiably, taking a seat next to them. Gabe was trailing a bit behind, but was stopped by some kids Ryan didn’t recognise.  
“You guys are coming to the afterparty, right?” William continued.  
Brendon laughed. “A party that Gabe’s throwing? Please, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Ry’s totally coming too, right?”  
All eyes were suddenly put on Ryan, who blanched and nodded quickly.  
“Is Spencer coming?” William asked, motioning to where Jon and spencer were, an amused smile on his face. The two kids were smiling at each other and talking jovially.  
 **Jon is so in love,**  Ryan signed to Brendon, who laughed and relayed it to William.  
“He really is. And judging by Spencer’s mega-watt smile, the feelings might be returned,” Bilvy chuckled.  
Ryan watched Jon place a hand on Spencer’s arm. Spencer blinked a few times before beaming at the other boy.   
Totally in love.

Pete signed off and the band packed up and moved off stage. During that, Brendon and Ryan rounded up Jon and Spencer and told William they’d meet him at Gabe’s house.   
They got in Brendon’s car with Jon and Spencer in the back and Brendon and Ryan in the front.   
“Alright Ry, I can’t see you signing while I drive so please don’t be upset if I don’t respond,” Brendon warned as they buckled.   
Ryan smiled and shook his head fondly. He was mostly planning on listening to the conversation in the backseat, anyways.   
Spencer piped up. “Y’know, if you sign at me, I can tell B what you’re saying!”  
 **Yeah, but I don’t want to,**  Ryan retorted. **I’m fine with listening.**  
“Aw c’mon Ry, you ALWAYS listen. Try talking for once!”  
 **No.**  
“Ryaaann,” Spencer whined. Ryan crossed his arms and looked away.  
Brendon was trying not to laugh in the driver’s seat as he pulled onto the road. “You two are like brothers.”  
“Yeah, it feels like that too,” Jon remarked.  
“Well, Ryan and I practically grew up with each other. Our fathers were friends.”  
 _Were being the key word there,_  Ryan thought bitterly.  
“Ohh, that’s cool!” Brendon exclaimed. “Like Gabe and Bilvy!”  
“Yeah!” Jon agreed. “So Ry, were you like, born mute or..?”  
Ryan shook his head and nodded at Spencer, who took the lead in the explanation.  
“Nah, when Ryan and I first met, he could speak. He got in a car wreck with his mom when he was, what.. Were you seven, Ry?” Spencer looked at his friend for confirmation. Ryan nodded, and Spencer continued. “Yeah, seven. Yeah, something happened, and like, his vocal chords got seriously fucked up. The doctors called it aphonia, I think. Like, it was really shitty to see my best friend in a hospital bed for three weeks, and then I was told he wouldn’t ever be able to speak again. We both instantly took classes to learn sign language so we’d be able to talk to each other. Mom and Dad took a few classes, too, so I wouldn’t have to constantly translate for them.”  
Spencer looked at Ryan, smiling. “Mom and Dad basically have taken Ryan in. He’s become an important part of our family.”  
“That’s really cool,” Jon murmured. “You can tell that the two of you mean a lot to each other.”  
Spencer nodded. “Ryan is like, my platonic soulmate. I don’t know what I’d do without him and his bitchy outlook on everything.”  
 **And I don’t know what I’d do without your weird inane sense of fashion, Ryan countered. Besides, you love my pessimistic side. It helps you with your English class.**  
“Too true,” Spencer laughed. “Fuck you, Ross.”  
 **You’re not my type.**  
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan caught Brendon looking at him with a warm look. His cheeks heated up and he glanced away. He wasn’t used to any attention like that.   
When he looked back over, Brendon’s eyes were back on the road, but he had a thin smile on his lips, like he knew something Ryan didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sound of loneliness makes me happier


	4. Acosmist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acosmist - one who believes nothing exists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry this is a bit late; ive had to do some legal work and my jaw is being a lil bitch and is locked. hope we get that fixed.
> 
>  
> 
> ive gotten tired of being buried

_“I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life.”_

\- Conor Oberst

 

***///***

 

Ryan had to remind himself that Gabe and William were neighbors, because his mind stuttered in confusion when Brendon pulled into William’s driveway.  
“We park here so nobody in this fancy-ass neighborhood gets mad at us for parking in the street,” Brendon explained as the four of them piled out of the car. “If we block up the road, the neighbors usually call the Homeowner’s Association or the police or something. It’s really annoying.”  
“It’s happened a few times anyways,” Jon chimed in, “these prissy motherfuckers just don’t like some teenagers jamming.”  
Ryan and Spencer shared a raised eyebrow before the latter voiced their shared thoughts.  
“Some? Jon, _some_  would mean about ten kids. This is more like twenty.”  
Jon pouted. “It’s not! Let’s see. There’s Vicky, Pete, Patrick, Andy, Joe, Gabe, William, Tyler, Josh, Ryland, Alex, Ashlee, Gerard, Mikey, Frank, Brendon, you, Ryan, and me!”  
 **That’s nineteen people,**  Ryan signed in exasperation. **That’s so much more than “some.”**  
Spencer translated for Jon, who pursed his lips.  
“Well, whatever. At least Gabe has a big house. Hey, Ry, are you good at math? Can you tutor me?”  
“Just because he counted your offhand list of people doesn’t mean that he’s good at math. Don’t ask Ryan to be your tutor, trust me,” Spencer laughed.  
Ryan gave Jon a lopsided smile and shrugged as the group walked up to the neighboring stoop. Brendon knocked on the door, which was almost immediately opened by William.  
“Hey kids!” the lanky boy greeted with excitement. “Glad to see you all in one piece! C’mon, the others are still on their way.”  
They trailed William through the house and into the living room, where Gabe was lying on the couch, shirtless. Brendon and Jon didn’t comment on the boy’s lack of clothing, but Spencer and Ryan shared another raised eyebrow.   
“So the band should get here in about twenty minutes,” William informed everyone, completely unfazed by Gabe.   
“Hey Bilvy, is everything set up?” Gabe asked the other boy, who turned and pursed his lips.  
“Y’know Gabe, if you want to take credit for throwing this party, then maybe you could actually help,” William retorted.  
Ryan smiled and signed to Spencer, **they make a cute couple.**  
Brendon saw and snorted. **They would, if they were actually together.**  
 **You mean they aren’t?**  Spencer asked, eyes wide.  
 **Gabe said he had keys to William’s house because of “boyfriend perks,”**  Ryan added.  
Brendon rolled his eyes. **That’s just how Gabe acts. He’s straight, and so is William.**  
Gabe looked up, over the back of the couch.  
“Hey guys, what’s the secret we’re keeping from Bill?” he whispered dramatically.  
“Ryan and Spencer thought you and Bill were a thing,” Brendon stage-whispered back.  
Gabe’s eyes widened and he grinned, looking over to where William was watching them with an amused expression.  
“Dude, that means it’s working!”  
“Brendon also said you’re straight,” Spencer threw in. Gabe made a hurt face.  
“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing!” he gasped at Brendon, who frowned.  
“You mean you’re not?” the boy asked.  
Gabe shook his head, lips curving up into a grin. “Hey, Bilvy, get this!” he called to the lanky boy, who then strolled over to the group with a raised eyebrow.  
“Brenny thought I was straight,” Gabe giggled.   
“You’ve got to be joking,” William chucked in response. Ryan liked the sound; it was nice and warm. “Gabe is _so_  not straight.”  
“Is hey gay, then?” Spencer piped, brows furrowing in that adorable, confused way.  
Gabe frowned. “Wow, bi erasure much?”  
William patted Gabe’s head comfortingly, before explaining. “He’s bisexual. He likes girls, boys, and the occasional enby.”  
Ryan’s confusion must have been evident, because William quickly clarified.   
“Enby is a short, endering term for nonbinary. Like, people who aren’t just a boy or a girl all the time.”  
Oh, that made a lot of sense! Ryan was sure that he’d met people like that.  
“How do you know if someone’s nonbinary?” Brendon asked, his nose wrinkled in confusion.  
“Well, you typically ask what pronouns they use,” Gabe said, “And they’ll usually tell you why the use the pronouns. If they don’t, then you can ask what their gender is, but make sure you do it nicely. Or else they’ll punch you in the face-”  
“Gabriel,” William scolded.  
“Okay, well, Ryland will punch you in the face. He’s genderneutral, by the way. Still uses male pronouns-”  
“He/him, not male,” William corrected,  
“But y’know, he doesn’t really conform to either in the gender binary.”  
“Ryland?” Brendon repeated, eyebrows raised. “He’s really genderneutral?”  
William walked off, calling over his shoulder. “Yep! Our little group is full of surprises, isn’t it?”  
“Speaking of surprises,” Spencer wondered, “where the fuck did Jon go?”  
Gabe paused, and looked at William’s back with terror. “MARY JANE!” he yelled before scrambling upstairs. William chuckled and shook his head.  
“He really is something else, isn’t he?”  
Brendon was about to reply, but the doorbell rang.

Pete and Patrick were hung up somewhere, (Andy wouldn’t tell and Joe was too preoccupied with the snacks to say anything) but everyone else flooded into the house, chattering and laughing. Gerard and Frank were sitting on the back of the couch, trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths, and Ryland was chilling in the kitchen with Tyler and Ashlee.  
Mikey Way was sitting Josh, Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon. Jon and Gabe had trailed off somewhere together, snickering, while pulling William along with them. Ryan was sure that William might need saving, but that could wait. Right now, Mikey had his head tilted and glasses at the end of his nose while listening to Josh speak, and Ryan’s heart was just about to burst. He had never seen anyone so aesthetically pleasing to the eye than Mikey fucking Way, and his voice was so perfect. Ryan was content to let Mikey talk forever.  
“So, Tyler was totally freaking out. Like, he was about to leap into my arms!” Josh recounted, motioning dramatically with his hands. “And I was like, ‘dude, it’s just a plastic spider,’ but he wasn’t having any of it and ran for the next door. I followed and we went into the next room and we heard a chainsaw, and I swear Ty looked like he was about to cry. I was just thinking, ‘man, I’m never taking him to a haunted house again.’ It was such a bad idea. When we got to the end, he demanded that he was sleeping at my house. I was like, ‘Ty, it’s a Wednesday.’ But he refused to sleep at his place, so I let him stay in my bed. Did you know that he clings in his sleep? I woke up and I swore I was gonna be suffocated; his arms were around my head. It was kinda cute!”  
Mikey nodded intently, Ryan watching the way his hair swished over his eyes in the movements. It was hypnotic for the mute boy, and he lost himself in tracing the outline of Mikey’s face.  
That is, until Brendon snapped him out of it by jostling his shoulder.   
“Ry, hey, Ryan,” the kid was grumbling. “I’m thirsty. Do you wanna grab a drink?”  
Ryan blinked for a second, processing the information in an almost dreamlike state. In the time it took for Ryan to reply, Brendon’s face grew more and more annoyed.   
“Well?”  
Ryan narrowed his eyes, confused at his friend’s uncharacteristically rude attitude, but he nodded and got up. Brendon accompanied him over to the cooler, next to the counter Ryland was sitting on.  
“Hey Bren!” the boy greeted, Tyler and Ashlee turning as well.  
Ashlee looked slightly dismayed at the fact that Pete and Patrick still hadn’t appeared, but she remained silent as Brendon grabbed two sodas randomly, handing one to Ryan. Ryan snapped it open before reading the label and nearly choked when he realised it was Fresca.   
“What, don’t like it?” Tyler teased, swiping the can and taking a sip. “Good, I’ll take it. Plebs who can’t appreciate Fresco don’t get.”  
Ryland raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “And you literally just mispronounced the name. It’s Fresca, Tyler.”  
“I know what I said.”  
Ryan smiled and leaned on the counter, eyes wandering back to where Mikey was laughing at something Spencer said. Mikey dipped his head forwards, his eyes squinting as his shoulders shook. Ryan thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever witnessed in his life.   
Brendon pursed his lips and set his can down with a loud _thunk._  Ryan turned to tilt his head at his friend, confused with the face he was making.  
 **What’s wrong?**  Ryan asked, worried that something might be bothering Brendon.  
Brendon frowned and sniffed. **Nothing. I’m going to go find William.**  And then he turned and stalked off, leaving Ryan, Ryland, Ashlee, and Tyler looking at his retreating backside, all equally bewildered.

Pete and Patrick arrived halfway through the party with a beer keg, although it was one of those dumb cheap ones that didn’t taste very good. Ryan eyed it warily as he clung to Spencer’s side, making sure to avoid the people who were drinking.  
Mikey wasn’t one of them. Josh had indulged, but only in one glass that Tyler had brought to him with hopeful eyes.   
“I don’t like alcohol,” Mikey had explained when questioned by Spencer. “Besides, I don’t think Gee would let me.”  
All eyes turned to Mikey’s brother, who was giggling madly at a joke Frank must’ve cracked. Judging by the tint to Gerard’s cheeks, it was probably a dirty joke.   
Mikey sighed, turning back to face Ryan and the others. “Frank’s had a crush on my brother since the ninth grade. They’re seniors now. Unfortunately, Frank’s too much of a wuss to say anything and my brother’s too oblivious to notice.” He shook his head, smiling. “Usually, I’d tell him by now, but I’m getting Frank back for the time he called me ‘annoying.’”  
 **I can’t believe someone would call Mikey annoying,**  Ryan signed subtly to Spencer, who chuckled.   
**You’re totally gay for him.**  
 **And you’re not?**  Ryan retorted with a scowl, which only made his best friend laugh.   
**No, because unlike you, I’m secure in my heterosexuality.**  
 **Hey, you can only be secure in your heterosexuality if you’re straight,**  he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.  
Spencer grinned. “Touché, douché.”  
Josh sighed, looking at Mikey with a rueful smile.   
“I regret not starting to learn sign language earlier.”  
“You do _not_  want to know what Ryan was talking about,” Spencer warned with a laugh. “Just because he’s mute doesn’t mean that he’s innocent. He’s told me aaaaall about his dreams with Conor Oberst-”  
Ryan gasped and punched Spencer in the shoulder, scowling.  
 **You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!**  
Spencer grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry Ry, I forgot. Besides, you’re adorable when you talk about it. You have the hugest indie hipster boner for him, admit it.”  
 **Spencer, sign these things!**  Ryan signed frantically, blushing darkly. He cast a quick glance at Mikey, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.  
“There’s no sign for ‘indie,’ Ryan, I can’t properly convey my emotions through ASL. Besides, I think Josh and Mikey are getting a kick out of understanding only one side of the conversation. Well, that and the fact that you have the best reactions.”  
 **I’m going to fucking kill you.**  Ryan pouted, crossing his arms and turning away from his friend.  
Mikey laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, I’m totally going to learn sign language. Ry, can you teach me some during Lang?”  
 **When you’re not copying off my essays, sure,**  Ryan signed casually, Spencer translating. It was a moment before he realised what he said, and his cheeks flushed. He frantically waved his hands, trying to tell Mikey that he didn’t mean it.  
Mikey only laughed again, dipping his head forwards so his bangs hid his face, lips curling up in the way that made Ryan’s stomach twist in knots.  
Fuck, he had it bad.  
“Yeah, alright. You teach me ASL and I’ll stop copying off of you.”  
 **Then we’ve got a deal,**  Ryan signed.  
“He says that you should keep copying off of him, and sit closer in class,” Spencer ‘translated.’  
Ryan shot up and glared at his friend. That is NOT was he said at all. He couldn’t take it back now, though, because Spencer probably wouldn’t say the right thing again. Fucking fuck fuckity fuck.  
Mikey raised an eyebrow, and Josh looked between Ryan and Spencer with an amused expression.  
“Okay,” Mikey said slowly, as if he was testing the waters.   
Ryan wanted to die.  
“Hey, you have fifth period lunch, right?” the boy continued.  
Spencer gave the vocal answer while Ryan nodded vehemently.   
“Yeah, we both do. We sit back in the corner. You have the same lunch period, right? You sit with Hurley and Trohman.”  
Wait, Hurley and Trohman were in their lunch period? That was totally news to Ryan.  
Mikey perked up. “Yeah, I do! Gee has art that period, with Frank. Sometimes they’ll skip and come sit with us. You guys should join, too! We have enough seats. Don’t you two sit alone?”  
Spencer shrugged nonchalantly. “Well it’s always been just Ryan and I. But since we have lunch together, I can help teach you ASL, too. Here, I’ll lend you a few of my old books. I have like, 50, from when I learnt.”  
Mikey looked from Ryan to Spencer and gave one of the best smiles Ryan had ever seen.

Brendon was no where to be found and William was fucking stoned off of his _ass_ , so Ryan and Spencer were a bit stranded.

**Call mom,**  Ryan signed for the fifth time.  
“Ry, I _can’t_  call her. There’s too much alcohol in the area; she’d FLIP and you know we’d both get grounded.”  
 **She’s not even-**  
“-Your real mother, yes, I know, but you know she’d still do it. Come on, use your pretty charms to convince someone to drive us home!”  
Easier said than done! Ryan looked around, hoping to see Patrick or something, when Gerard tapped him on the shoulder.  
“Hey, Ryan, right? We have chem together.”  
Ryan turned, nodding.   
“You two in need of a ride?” piped a voice from behind Gerard. A babyface peeked out from behind him, greasy black hair falling down; obviously Frank.  
“Yeah, we couldn’t help but overhear. I mean, I have to take Mikey home, too, but I have an SUV. I think we can fit you. Right Frankie?”  
The younger kid nodded quickly before calling out for Gerard’s little brother, who wandered over.  
Gerard slung a shoulder around Mikey’s shoulder, motioning to Ryan and Spencer. “We gotta take these kids home, is that alright with you?”  
Mikey tilted his head, scoffing. “Why wouldn’t it be?”  
“Just checkin’, kiddo! Alright, ready?” Gerard looked at Spencer and Ryan, both of whom nodded in response.  
“How ‘bout you, Frank?”  
“Awh I’m there baby,” the little man crooned in return.  
“How ‘bout you, Moikay?”  
“I’m fuckin’ ready,” the littleWay mumbled with a bit of a headbob.  
“Well, I think I’m alright. One, two, three, let’s go!”  
Spencer and Ryan gave each other a look, a bit confused by Gerard’s eccentricness, but y’know, he was giving them a free ride home.  
“Okay, so I totally get the front seat. You three get to divvy up the backseat,” Frank piped as they headed towards the upperclassman’s car.   
Spencer’s lips curved into a sly grin, and he looked at his friend. “Ryan should sit in the middle, because he’s the thinnest.”  
Fuck him. Fuck Spencer fucking James Smith with a giant, splintery log. Ryan hoped that Spencer got a kidney stone tomorrow. He hoped that Spencer had to pee it out at school. He hoped it’d be loud. He hoped there would be other boys in the bathroom. Fuck Spencer.  
Mikey, however, gave no complaint to the seating arrangement. They all clambered into the fire-fucking engine red SUV, and Ryan silently laughed at the look on Spencer’s face when Gerard turned on the radio full blast.   
Ryan decided half-way into the first song that Gerard’s music taste, while odd and out of place, was worth noting. He made sure to ask for band recommendations later.

Ryan’s house was first. He wanted to check in on his dad, y’know, making sure that he was still alive and kicking and stuff. Ryan ignored the disgusting twisting in the back of his mind, the part that silently but constantly hoped that his dad was _actually_  dead, so he wouldn’t have to deal with him again. By now, Ryan would’ve let that part take control, but of course he had to be so deliciously contradicting and have ANOTHER part that whispered about how “this is your _dad_  and you _have_  to love him, or else you’re a bad person and a bad son.”   
Fuck that part.  
Ryan pulled out his keys as Gerard drove away, the hum of the SUV fading into the distance. He unlocked the door with a simple twist and pushed it open, the door creaking and groaning with underuse. All of the lights were off, suggesting that Ross SR. was already in bed.  
However, as soon as Ryan turned on the living room light, a clinking from the kitchen proved otherwise.  
“George? Are you home?” came the slurring call.   
Ryan sighed and trudged into the adjacent room, proving that it was in fact him, and not some burglar that just so happened to have a key to the house. Of course, his dad might not even remember locking the door.   
“Ah, George, it’s you. How was school?”  
Ryan tried to look his father in the eye while shrugged, but the bloodshot look was too much and he had to look away. Immediately, Ross SR. stood up, the jerky motion knocking over the chair.  
“You look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, mister,” his father growled. “I taught you better.”  
 _You didn’t teach me anything,_  Ryan thought bitterly as he narrowed his eyes and nodded.   
His dad sniffed and looked Ryan up and down before retrieving his chair and sitting in it.  
“Is your homework finished?”  
Ryan took a deep breath and nodded, knowing his dad didn’t care either way. He was just following the typical questions the _'How to Parent’_  pamphlet told him to.   
“Good. I need you to take out the trash. It’s getting so full. What the hell do you eat?”  
It was full of bottles, so it was definitely not Ryan’s fault. Besides, he hadn’t been home since what, Monday? But whatever, it’s not like his dad remembers, or even cares. Ryan just takes the bag and struggles to take it out to the curb. He makes sure to not drag it against the ground, or else he’d be out until 1 A.M. picking up trash again.   
As soon as he was back in the house, there was a crash in the living room. Ryan immediately bolted into his room and locked the door, ignoring the slurred cursing and shouts of his name.   
There were more crashes as time went on, as if his father was throwing bottles against walls. Ryan wouldn’t be surprised if that was happening. He made a mental note to wear shoes tomorrow morning, when he left the house. A cut foot was the last thing he needed right now.  
He took off his clothes and threw them into a corner, crawling into bed and plugging his phone into the charger and setting it on the night stand.   
As soon as he was settled, the phone buzzed with a text message.  
It was from Brendon.

Ryan smiled and tapped out a quickly reply.

 

Ryan set his phone down and curled up, listening to the cursing that echoed downstairs.   
He fell asleep around 1 A.M., dreaming of coffee grounds that sang about Dancing. Ryan sang along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy"  
> too bad thats all i can sing about


	5. Ephermeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ephemeral - lasting a very short time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweet berries ready for two ghosts are no different than you

_“I realise there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.”_

– Jeffrey McDaniel

  
  


***///***

  
  


Three months pass. It’s the last week of school, and Brendon is waiting outside of Ryan’s house, as had become usual for the two of them. Ryan didn’t ride with Spencer anymore because Brendon had a car. Brendon also kissed Ryan; he kissed Ryan good morning and good night, and sometimes when he was feeling particularly daring, he’d kiss Ryan for no reason.

Ryan wasn’t exactly sure what they were, as Brendon adamantly refused to call himself gay or anything beyond straight. He also refused to call Ryan his boyfriend, which hurt a little.

But Brendon kissed him and said that he was pretty, and he sends shivers down Ryan’s spine.

 

When Ryan opens the car door and climbs in, Brendon greets him with a kiss and a smile. They grin at each other for a moment before Ryan buckled up and Brendon drove off.

 

It started a few weeks beforehand. The kissing, I mean. Over time, Brendon and Ryan grew closer, to the point where Spencer only saw his best friend every other day, despite being in the same neighborhood. Ryan spent almost all of his time at Brendon’s house, and his grades were starting to suffer. He didn’t have time to do his homework anymore, and Spencer liked to rag on him about it. Ryan brushed him off and told him that he had time to bring his grades back up.

 

_They were in Brendon’s room, playing Super Smash Bros on Brendon’s wii. Ryan was totally getting his ass kicked, and he stuck his bottom lip out in a pout after he lost for the fifth time. Brendon looked over, his cheeks red, and he whispered “you’re cute.”_

_Ryan blushed, eyes wide, watching as his friend leaned forwards…_

_Their lips touched, just barely, before Brendon pulled away sharply._

_Ryan looked at him, a little hurt. What was happening?_   
_“Sorry,” Brendon mumbled, face bright red. “It was different than what I expected. Did you... like it too?”_   
_Ryan nodded, his hands frozen on his controller. He was motionless as Brendon leaned forwards again and their lips brushed against each other once more, and Ryan felt electricity shoot through him, all the way to his toes. He liked this feeling and he liked Brendon, he decided. He wanted to do this more._

_“You’re pretty,” Brendon whispered, face barely touching Ryan’s._

_They didn’t play Super Smash Bros anymore; instead, they explored each other’s face and giggled when they found out that Ryan was ticklish on his jawline._

 

Spencer was waiting when Ryan and Brendon pulled up. Ryan got out of the car with a wave to his boyfriend- er, friend- and smiled at Spencer, who gave a tentative smile back.

They walked into the school and Ryan absently wondered if Brendon waited until he was inside before driving off, of if he left as soon as Ryan’s back was turned.

He wasn’t too keen to find out.

 

Frank was silent in Creative Writing, refusing to look up from whatever he was scribbling in his notebook. Mr. Watsky let Frank do whatever he wanted, and didn’t comment when the boy suddenly stood up and left the room, his face puffy.

Ryan was very, very confused.

 

Gerard wasn’t there in Chemistry. Mr. Grohl wouldn’t tell Ryan why, only shaking his head and saying “family matters” when he’s asked. Ryan started to get worried, feeling the absence of Gerard’s presence loom over him. Where was his friend? Was that why Frank was acting weird?

Ryan texted Spencer, asking if he’s seen Mikey anywhere. The response of “no” was almost immediate, and Ryan started to tap out “what about Gerard?” when Mr. Grohl stares directly at Ryan, his frown set.

Ryan put away his phone and tried to focus on the lesson, but the fear and confusion growing in his stomach was very distracting. He eventually lost himself in his imagination, letting it take him to dark, morbid thoughts of car wrecks, serial killers, and cancer.

 

Spencer met Ryan outside of the chemistry hall and they walked to lunch together. As soon as they sat down, they realised that their table was uncharacteristically quiet.   
Ryan looked from Joe to Andy, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

There was no response.

They all ate in silence for most of the period, until Ryan noticed that Spencer was quivering beside him. Was he okay?

“Okay, where the fuck is Mikey?” Spencer burst out suddenly, startling everyone.

Joe looked up with tired eyes and Andy took a deep breath, glancing at his friend with worry, like he was afraid Joe would spontaneously combust if he wasn’t careful.

“He’s, uh.” Andy looked tentatively at Ryan. “He’s not here.”

“Okay, then where is he?” Spencer asked, eyes narrowing.

It was quiet for a moment, and Ryan felt something twist in his chest. Mikey was dead. Mikey hated him. Mikey was dead _and_  hated him.

“Not here. He already said that,” Joe replied.  
“And I asked where he _is._ ”

Joe snorted. “I dunno where he is right now, but I do know exactly where he’ll be tomorrow: fuckin’ six feet under-”

He was stopped by a fierce glare from Andy. “Joe, that’s not how you handle this situation.”   
Ryan was in shock. Mikey was dead? He was _actually_ dead?

He looked helplessly at Spencer, who had his brows knitted furiously. It wasn’t cute this time.

“You’re telling me that Mikey’s… y’know?”

Andy opened his mouth to explain, and Ryan felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t be here anymore and he couldn’t hear exactly what happened to Mikey. He just.. He couldn’t.

Ryan stood up abruptly and promptly hurried to the bathroom, where he broke down. He didn’t care if someone heard his broken sobs or the breathy, whispered “fucks!”

He pulled out his phone and texted Brendon, “wat calss ar u in?”

The reply took a few moments, and in those Ryan attempted to calm himself down to a slightly blubbering mess.

 

 

 

 

It was about two minutes before Ryan’s phone rang, and Brendon immediately asked if Ryan was okay before realising that he couldn’t respond.

The two of them settled for just sitting there on the phone, listening to Ryan’s broken sobs, until the bell rang. Brendon heard.

_“Hey Ry, I’ll pick you up after school, okay?”_  Brendon asked softly before hanging up.

Ryan stared at his phone, thoughts racing too fast to even know what they were about. He felt so blank. Mikey was gone. He wouldn’t crack anymore jokes or call Ryan at odd hours anymore to talk about the position of the stars that night and what it meant.

Ryan took a deep breath and wiped his nose, standing up. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and decided that his eyes weren’t as puffy as before, and therefore he could leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ryan then slunk into the lunch room to grab his backpack and headed out onto the lawn. He really didn’t want to be in Mr. Hoppus’ class and see Mikey’s empty seat. He didn’t think he could handle it, honestly, and he wanted to avoid breaking down in class. It was embarrassing enough to cry in the school bathroom; he didn’t need to cry in a desk, too.

He managed to leave campus without being seen- or if someone did see him, they took pity on his slumped, beaten posture and let him go.

 

He arrived home within twenty minutes and swung the door open, surprised to hear silence in the house. That meant that his dad wasn’t home.

_Good,_  he thought bitterly as he flung his backpack onto the floor, the contents spilling out. Ryan stared at the mess for a moment, his heart in his throat, before he made a strangled noise and turned away, hurrying to his room.

Ryan stood in his room for a moment, unsure of what to do. He contemplated texting Spencer, but his friend was still at school and Ryan didn’t exactly want him knowing that he left… Although Spencer would know next period.

He settled for getting on his laptop, and he immediately opened his recent tabs. Question! by System of a Down started blasting and Ryan tried to quell the rising tears; the song was too close to home.

He realised that he had Mikey’s tumblr open in a tab, so he clicked on it hesitantly. The page automatically refreshed and showed the most recent post.

_dear friends and family_

_im sorry but i cant. i hate everything too much, specifically myself and ive gotten into a lot of bad stuff lately and im afraid i cant come back from it. i dont want to hurt you guys more than i already have so i just want to say goodbye. i love all of you._

_please dont tell ryan im afraid he might try to come after me. the world needs him around._

_i dont know whats gonna happen after this but i hope it makes your guys lives better because mine is only getting worse_

_stay safe and please forget me_

_mikeyway_

Suicide.

Ryan stared at the screen, eyes wide. He knew Mikey had gotten into a few drugs but he didn’t expect it to take over his life so quickly... or so fatally.

Suddenly, Ryan remembered Gerard. He switched over to Gerard’s blog, _gwhiz183_ , and refreshed the page.

_we cant be here anymore so were moving to chicago. i hope nobody follows, tbh._

_gwhiz_

So he wouldn’t be seeing either of the Way brothers? He wouldn’t even have Gerard to help him through this.

Ryan vaguely wondered how Frank was taking all of this. Judging by the boy’s actions earlier, not very well.

What would happen to Sleep Terror? It was a well known fact that the band was one of the only things keeping Frank together as the boy had a broken family and heavy depression.

Ryan was suddenly seized by fear and he quickly pulled up Frank’s contact and sent a message.

 

 

 

The reply took a few minutes, and in that Ryan checked Sleep Terror’s site. There was nothing about breaking up, but then again there was nothing about Gerard’s move, either, so Ryan made a mental note to check the site again tomorrow.

It was around then that Frank replied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  


 

 

 

Ryan took his phone and his phone charger and left, glared contemptuously at his spilled backpack. He’d let his father clean it up; after all, Ryan had cleaned up after him enough times.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shadows will scream that im alone
> 
>  
> 
> yo guys so i probably wont update next week; im gonna be at dragon*con from friday to monday, so i wont have much time to write


	6. Sabaism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabaism - worship of the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can see myself putting all my clothes inside my suitcase without bothering to fold them
> 
> (sorry for being late lmao life troubles  
> we're back on track for now)

Frank’s father’s house was smaller than the others in the area, and looked rather run down. Mr. Iero only lived in Las Vegas so that he could near his son, as Frank’s mother lived in Bishop Gormon’s district.

Ryan pulled up to the house, his bike brakes screeching with over-use as he tried to avoid a pothole in the middle of the driveway. How the hell was this house not torn down by the Homeowner’s Association? Whatever, not his problem.

He knocked lightly on the door, bike still at his side. Ryan didn’t trust this part of the neighborhood at all, but he also forgot to bring his lock and therefore was left with this clunky piece of metal.

Frank opened the door after a few moment, features softening when he saw his friend.  
“Hey Ry,” he murmured in a half-hearted greeting.

Ryan waved in response before looking at his bike, a concerned expression on his face.

“Here, just bring it in. The house is already shit, nobody’ll notice.”

Frank turned and left the door open, heading upstairs.

Ryan hefted his bike up the single step and set it gently in the foyer before closing the door and following Frank.

The two entered Frank’s room at the end of the hallway, and Ryan took a second to notice that there weren’t any posters on the door anymore.

(It used to have Sleep Terror posters on it, y’know, the pages that would say “ _Sleep Terror performing with Albino Croquette in Leftend! 9 pm on Saturday, June 17! Be there!_ ” or it would half-assed pictures of the band members posing, with their band name at the top in dramatic fonts.

The entire door used to be littered with them. Sleep Terror was one of the only things Frank was actually proud of.)

Ryan tapped Frank’s shoulder and pointed to the door, raising an eyebrow. He wanted to know if Frank took them all down on purpose, or if he was forced to, or something. Well, it was more that Ryan was worried his friend was taking Gerard’s move way too hard.

The shorter kid looked a bit sheepish, scratching the back of his head and not meeting Ryan’s eyes.

“I, uh. Didn’t wanna be reminded. Y’know..”   
Frank made a noncommittal noise and waved his hand, turning away from Ryan.

“I didn’t throw them away. He’s gonna come back, y’know, I know it. He has to come back. He can’t just-”

Frank stopped himself and blushed a little, not letting Ryan in on the rest of his sentence.

The room was silent for a minute, the two of them both standing in the doorway awkwardly, until Ryan motioned to the record player Frank kept in the corner. It was the boy’s prized possession; Ryan knew that much. Sometimes when it was really late, Frank would text him and they’d sit on the little outcrop of roof outside of Frank’s window and listen to whatever records were lying around. Most of the albums were from The Beatles and The Beastie Boys, because of Mr. Iero’s older taste in music.

Ryan developed a strong appreciation for psychedelic rock during those times.

Frank smiled a little, something in his eyes that one could only name regret.

“It’s broken.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. How would that get broken? Frank never let anyone else touch it, not even Gerard.

He waited for an explanation but there was none; Frank just kept that little remorseful smile and shrugged, his shoulders rolling in a very un-Frank-like way. It made Ryan’s stomach coil and he wanted to bundle the kid up in his arms and make him feel better.

 _It must be really hard to lose your best friend,_  Ryan thought sadly when Frank avoided his eyes again and shuffled around the room.

“So, uhm, what do you wanna do? I mean, like, my dad’s not home so we can do just about anything. I have some guitars in the basement, if you wanna jam a bit. I’m not very good,” Frank mumbled, shuffling a bit.

Ryan shrugged, nodding in the best non-verbal way to communicate “hey, guitars sound pretty cool.”

Frank seemed to understand (bless those nights spent on his roof) and lead Ryan down into the basement, which the latter hadn’t entered in the three months of knowing Frank.

The walls had all kinds of guitars on them, as well as setlists from concerts. There was a small, dusty drumset in the corner furthest from the staircase, which Frank pointedly ignored.

Ryan let himself soak the atmosphere of the room in before quickly honing in on a Gibson Firebird.

He wouldn’t be surprised if he was drooling; Ryan had fantasies about playing one of those. The one in front of him was a Firebird T, with a vintage sunburst on the finishing.

He made a strangled noise with his damaged vocals, eyes wide.

Frank looked at Ryan with a concerned expression. “Woah, dude, I’ve literally never heard to make a noise like that. Are you okay?”

Nodding quickly, Ryan cleared his throat and tried to regain a little dignity in front of his friend. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his back, avoiding Frank’s face for a moment before smiling brightly.

“Soo,” Frank started, looking around. “You like guitars, right? Well I mean obviously, you wanted to come down here. So, like, do you wanna play a bit? You can use anything as long as you don’t break it. I don’t care, really. Dad’s not home and he won’t be for a while, so don’t worry. I trust you and shit.”

Ryan blinked, surprised at the amount of trust being placed at him, and glanced between his friend and the Firebird. There was a moment of awkward silence before the shorter of the two burst out laughing.

“Yeah, yeah fuck Ryan you can use the T. God you look so fucking hopeful, jesus christ. Go get it down. There are a few amps over by the closet; you should plug in and show me what you can do.”

Ryan gently tugged an amp over to where Frank was standing and, with ginger fingers, took the Firebird off of the wall. He plugged it into the amp and lightly plucked a few strings.

The tone vibrated out with a lovely ring, and Ryan’s eyes widened. He never thought he’d be holding an actual _electric guitar._

“You look like you’re going to cry,” Frank laughed. “C’mon, we all know you can play the guitar. Show me what you can do.”

It took a few moments for Ryan to get acquainted with the guitar, and after Frank lent him a pick, he found himself playing a familiar tune. It was easy, flowing through his fingers and into the strings. The tune wobbled into the air and fell upon hungry ears, as both boys were excited to see new talent.

“Hey, I know that song,” Frank said after a moment, blinking in a pensive manner. “That’s Chasing Cars, right? By Snow Patrol. I didn’t know you listened to that kinda stuff.”

Ryan shrugged half-heartedly, focusing on the lyrics that ran through his head. The chords for the song weren’t very hard and rather repetitive, to he could pour his heart into how he played.

It was pretty cliche, of course, but Chasing Cars was his dream. He wanted someone to lie with him and forget everything except for who they were. Call him a hopeless romantic (which he refused; he wasn’t hopeless, just wishing too hard most of the time. He just wanted to be better than his parents, that’s all) but Ryan loved sappy love songs. He knew the chords for The Reason by heart, and he might have admitted at some point in his life that he used to like N’Sync. With enough coercing, one might even get him to admit that he liked Evanescence- granted, they didn’t have love songs, but it surely didn’t help his I’m Not Emo attitude.

Frank was tapping his foot along to the easy beat that Ryan had set, humming the lyrics to himself. When the song was finished, Frank took down another guitar that Ryan recognised as a Fender Stratacoustic, similar to the one that he found Patrick playing a few months back, and tested the strings. They vibrated softly, apparently pleasing Frank as he then plugged the guitar into the amp.  
“Do you know _Nutze_  by my ba- Sleep Terror?” Frank asked, his voice a little strained.

Ryan nodded, having listening to that song enough times to have the chords memorised. He tried to overlook Frank’s stumble, giving an encouraging smile and patting the strings to the guitar he was borrowing.

Frank smiled back, slowly and tentatively like he felt like his lips would fall off if he tried to be happy, his eyes roving down to where Ryan’s fingers strummed deftly over the strings in a quick warm up, learning how the song sounded on the guitar.   
“You know your way around a guitar.”

Ryan looked away, embarrassed at the flattery. He certainly had enough time alone with his to learn how it was supposed to sound, that’s for sure. Besides, he loved his guitar; he named it Vivi, after a song he found on Youtube that sounded vaguely like a suicide note. The song itself resonated with every fibre in his being, as he certainly felt like that a lot.

Frank was about to say something, obviously, as his mouth opened slightly and his eyes sparkled with a tiny hint of mischief, a look that Ryan had missed all day, when everything was halted by feet banging on the stairs leading to the basement.

Frank looked wildly at the clock on the wall, brows knitting when he saw the time.

“My dad shouldn’t be home yet, what-”

He was cut off by the door being swung open and Patrick and Pete shuffling in- (well, Patrick did the shuffling. Pete looked like he was ready to smash something)- and slamming the door shut. Ryan flinched at the loud noise, earning a worried look from Frank.

“So, uhm, what’s up, guys?” the short kid asked a bit nervously, his gaze switching between Patrick’s sweaty face and Pete’s red, puffy one.

“Ashlee. Uhm.” Patrick gulped loudly and glanced at Pete, who had slumped against the wall with his arms crossed. Ryan thought he looked a lot like a pouting child.

“Ashlee broke up with Pete.”

Three noises filled the room at once: a gasp from Ryan, a shout of “WHAT” from Frank, and something that sounded too close to the noise a goose makes when you step on it from Pete.

“She didn’t,” Frank gasped with disbelief, quickly putting the guitar he was holding on the wall and hurrying over to the puffy-faced emo. “What the fuck. That’s so not cool. What happened?”

Patrick didn’t reply for a moment. Instead, he took his hat off and fondled the brim a bit, looking incredibly like he was about to sit on a baby.

“Pete, uhm. He caught her with.” Another gulp. “She was with Brendon.”

Ryan’s breath froze in his throat. The room was silent as all eyes turned to him, and suddenly he felt like he was be crushed by the stares of his friends.

Brendon wouldn’t cheat on him. That’s just not the kind of person Brendon was, right? Ryan was pretty. Brendon said so. Brendon kissed him a lot and cupped his face and said “you’re so pretty” and sometimes if Ryan was lucky, and if Brendon was in a good mood, hands would slip into pants until the panting died down and their lips were bruised.

That meant that Brendon liked him. And that meant that whatever had happened was not true, of course.  
Apparently everyone was waiting for Ryan to do something, so he gave a tentative smile and a quick wave of his wrist. He didn’t mind. He didn’t care. Brendon wasn’t even his boyfriend. They were just. What were they? Ryan didn’t know, but he knew that he didn’t care about the _rumour_  of Brendon being with Ashlee.

(Because it totally was untrue.)

“Ry.. How do you feel about this?” Frank asked, slowly, his voice soft like he was afraid any sound above breathing would shatter his friend.

Ryan shrugged before motioning to Pete, who was still bunched up by himself. He hated having so much attention on him for such a trivial and _untrue_  fact.

Patrick coughed, clearing the air, and walked over to Pete.

“H-hey, Pete, is there. Uh. Anything we can do to help you out?”

Pete looked up, tears brimming in his eyes. “Can I get drunk?” he asked, a whisper.

Ryan stifled a laugh as Patrick apparently frowned, sighing.

“No, Pete.”

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“No, Pete,” Patrick replied again.

“Why not?”

“Because you were just broken up with.”

“But you’re pretty.”

“I know. But you still can’t kiss me. You need to take some time to get over her.”

Pete frowned, looked rather disgruntled. “I don’t want to get over her. I want her back… I feel so empty. How could he do that to me? He knows how much she means to me.”

Frank wandered over, looking a little lost. “Are you sure it was Brendon?” he whispered.

“Fuck yeah I’m sure it was that cowardly asshole! He had his hand up her shirt and they were making out. She stopped when she saw me, but the dickwad said to ignore me. I’m going to kill him. Can I kill him, Patty?” Pete looked at Patrick with hopeful eyes.

There was a sigh from the shorter boy. “No, Pete. You can’t kill Brendon. Why don’t I talk to him?”  
“With your fists?” Pete piped. Frank shot him a look before discreetly pointing at Ryan.

“No, Pete. An actual conversation. Without fighting. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. You should stay home from school, okay?”

There was a few moments while Pete grumbles something before saying “okay Patty.”

Ryan was trying to ignore the twisting in his gut and the presence of his friends wasn’t helping, so instead he motioned to Frank that he was going upstairs and waved goodbye to Patrick and Pete after putting away the guitar he was holding. They responded with a half-attentive wave as Ryan plodded up the basement stairs and ended up in front of his bike.

He stared at it for a moment, trying to control the thoughts whirling around his head.

Brendon wouldn’t cheat on him. But wait, if they weren’t together, how could it be cheating?

Shaking his head, Ryan grabbed his bike and opened up the door. He was about to step out when he saw a familiar car pull into Frank’s driveway.

His heart dropped when he saw Brendon step out of the car.  
The two locked gazes for a moment, and Brendon tentatively asked, “is Pete here?”

When Ryan nodded, Brendon cursed and rushed inside, slipping in past Ryan.

What the fuck. What the fucking fuck. What the fuck was going on.

Ryan tugged his bike back inside and slammed the door, running downstairs after Brendon’s thudding footsteps. He tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering, because now that Brendon was here he could ask what happened and make sure that Pete was lying, of course, because Brendon wouldn’t ever do that to Ryan obviously.

 

When he heard the rushing footsteps down the basement stairs, Frank honestly expected it to be Ryan to fling the door open, not Brendon. So when the latter stepped through the frame and into the room, he hissed in surprise and Patrick stood up quickly, stepping in front of Pete protectively.

“Pete, listen, I can explain-” Brendon started, but he was cut off by both Ryan ramming into his back accidentally and Pete leaping to his feet with a roar of “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Apparently Ryan had run in after Brendon and slipped down the stairs. Brendon helped him up before immediately turning around to return to defending himself to Pete, but instead his face connected with Pete’s fist, _hard._

“YOU WERE ONE OF MY FUCKING BEST FRIENDS,” Pete yelled. “AND I CATCH YOU FONDLING MY GIRLFRIEND. YOU’RE A FUCKING DICK. AN ASSWIPE. I FUCKING HATE YOU.”

Ryan was definitely not ready for Pete to point at him- (Ry’s eyes widened and he pointed back at himself, like, “me?”)- and continue shout, “AND FUCKIN’, FUCKIN’ RYAN. YOU DON’T KNOW HOW BROKEN HE LOOKED AFTER PAT TOLD HIM WHAT HAPPENED. YOU’RE FUCKING UP EVERYONE’S LIVES, AREN’T YOU? GOD, I FUCKING HATE YOU. FUCK.”

Ryan slid his way into the room, fully, and went to stand by Frank, who looked absolutely confused as to what was happened.   
“Did he drive here?” Frank whispered to Ryan after seeming to register that he was there. Ryan nodded quickly, and Frank scowled.

“I wonder what he’s gonna say.”

Ryan wanted to know, too. How was Brendon going to explain this?

“P-Pete, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t do that to you. She, she said that she had already broken up with you!” Brendon exclaimed, hands raising to shield himself from another suckerpunch. “She just. She just wanted to fool around, y’know? I didn’t think she was _cheating_  on you!”

Pete was silent, his face the complete picture of utter disgust.

It was Patrick who spoke up, and his voice was absolutely full of rage.

“You’re fucking awful. You forgot about Ryan, didn’t you? He’s right. Fucking. There. And you’re here sniveling about how Ashlee just wanted to ‘fool around’ with you when you have a fucking _boyfriend._  And you fucking expect us to believe that Ashlee really wanted to fuck you after she just broke up with her boyfriend of two years?”

“R-Ryan’s not my boyfriend, I mean, I’m not _gay_. He’s really pretty and stuff, y’know?” Brendon replied, stuttering as he looked at Ryan, eyes pleading for help. “Ry-ry believes me, right? I would never condone cheating.”

Once more, all eyes turned to Ryan. He felt like he was going to shatter under the weight of their stares, so he gulped and nodded. Anything to get them to stop looking at him.

“S-See! I didn’t know she was cheating on you.”

Not his boyfriend. They weren’t together. So Brendon wasn’t his. Ryan’s heart dropped again and he tried not to cry right there, because then Brendon definitely wouldn’t want him anymore.

Nobody was ready for Patrick, this tiny little short dude, to pick Brendon up by his shirt collar.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit. You need to get out of this fucking house, and if I even catch you _looking_  at Pete, I will rip out your entrails and fucking staple them to your prissy little Mormon household.”

When he dropped Brendon, the kid scrambled backwards and up the stairs, and presumably out of the house.

Ryan pulled out his phone and quickly texted Spencer.

 

 

 

 

Without waiting for a reply from anyone, he headed upstairs and opened the front door again, watching the tail of Brendon’s car tear out of view.

He hopped on his bike and headed towards Spencer’s, hoping that they hadn’t eaten dinner yet. He could totally settle for a home-cooked meal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *it gets worse by mindless self indulgence playing in the background*


End file.
